Love Bites
by Tonight's The Night
Summary: Some lines shouldn't be crossed. But when Syaoran volunteers to be Fai's "game," it sparks a bond that changes them from predator and prey into something else. FaiSyao. AU. For Serena-loves-Angst. Complete.
1. Part I

_Author's Notes:_

_As requested by Serena-loves-Angst, I have written a FaiSyao fic in which Syaoran takes responsibility for the events of Tokyo and becomes Fai's "game." I've decided to tell this mini-story through a series of short vignettes, which is why you will see so many line breaks throughout this story._

_Initially, this was intended to be a oneshot. And then it turned into a 7000-word behemoth. So I've sliced it into three parts, making it a three-shot._

_Warnings: This fic contains smut, darkness, adult content, and shameless use of the present tense. However, the smut doesn't come in until part three, so even if you don't care for smut, you can read up to that point without encountering it(I don't see why you'd bother, as the _purpose _of this story is to reach the smut in the most plausible manner possible, but if you don't mind missing the entire point, you can just stick to the first two chapters)._

* * *

Love Bites

Part I

* * *

Fai is dying.

They all know it, though no one says it. Syaoran stands at the edge of the room, watching the nightmare unfold and knowing he's responsible for it. Yuuko regards their group from the circle of light Mokona's projected onto the wall. Her wine-red eyes fall on the ninja. "Kurogane. It is your wish to keep Fai from dying. Fai does not want you to make that wish."

Kurogane flinches.

Yuuko continues. "Therefore, you will have to take on the burden of responsibility for his life."

_Responsibility? _Syaoran thinks, head snapping up. No one takes notice of his sudden movement. He is not important enough to be noticed. _No. That's wrong. Nothing that's happened today is his fault. _He opens his mouth, lifting one hand. "Wait."

The others ignore him. Kurogane glares at the witch. "What am I supposed to do?" he demands, his voice cold, determined.

"You must become 'game' for him."

Syaoran's blood turns to ice. The word reverberates in his ears, a dissonant chorus. _Game_. Unlike his homicidal clone, he knows the term. Game. Synonymous with prey, food, bait. An image of Fai ripping into the ninja's throat flickers through his mind. _He doesn't deserve that. None of them deserve to be turned into prey. This is wrong. _He lurches forward, not thinking, only reacting. "Wait," he gasps, pain shooting up his leg. Blood leaks from the wound on his thigh. His clone cut him deeply in the fight, in more ways than one. _But I'm not the only one who's hurt, _he thinks. _And of all of us, I deserve to be hurt most. _

Finally, Kurogane looks at him. His eyes burn red, like dying embers. Syaoran pauses, almost backing down before he squares his shoulders. "I'll do it."

Shouts. Chaos. Expressions of horror. Kurogane grabs his arm. "No."

"I have to. It's my fault."

"Bullshit."

"I didn't make it in time. I should've been able to stop it." And that's not the real problem, though he feels guilty for it. Rather, his wish is the problem—the wish he made so long ago, trying to save someone he loved. And while this isn't the same situation, Syaoran does not abandon people he cares about.

This time, Kurogane pauses. His tanned fingers unfurl. Syaoran holds his chin high, refusing to waver even as fear coils in his gut. When it's clear there are no more objections, he turns to Yuuko. "I will pay the price."

* * *

It's later, much later, when Fai stirs again. He remembers pain—hideous pain, as if someone had set him afire—but that is gone now, and so too is half his magic, though it takes him a few seconds to remember why. Dazed, he opens his remaining eye. The other remains covered beneath a patch of bandages and cloth.

The first face he sees is the last face he ever wanted to see, and he recoils in fear, instinct overriding reason as he flails atop the mattress. The boy—not the boy who betrayed him, though he doesn't realize that yet—comes to his bedside, mumbling false reassurances. When the boy's fingers wrap around his, Fai jerks his hand away. A sudden pain dances across his fingertips as he lashes out, and even half-blind and disoriented, he has time to wonder how his fingernails grew so long so fast before they slice into Syaoran's face.

The boy cries out, and something inside Fai shrivels, like a child recoiling from the cruel fist of a tormentor. His mind returns to him, bringing clarity with it. He recognizes the boy now, though his face is obscured by several trails of blood(and his blood smells so sweet that all Fai can think about is ripping into his exposed, pulsing throat and drinking until his stomach ruptures). This is not the Syaoran who ripped his eye out, but the one who intervened just a few minutes too late.

They are still for several seconds. Eventually, this new Syaoran removes his blood-streaked hand from his face. Fai stares at the blood, a pit opening up in his stomach, as if he's never eaten before. Or as if he'll never eat again. His body riots, and before he can regain control of it, his mouth fastens over Syaoran's bloodied hand, and a primal satisfaction crashes over him.

* * *

Fai wants him dead.

Oddly, it's not the first time Syaoran has thought that, though Fai has been a vampire for less than six hours. Fai's awakening, along the impulsive attack, had stunned him, left him cowering as the vampire sipped blood from his palm. But though Fai is now in control of his instincts, Syaoran has never been more afraid.

"Why did you send Sakura-chan alone to pay the price?" Fai strides over to him, and he draws back, unnerved by the man's predatory grace. Kurogane starts to move between them, then hesitates, glancing back as if realizing once more that the boy behind him is not the one he's grown used to protecting.

Syaoran waits, bracing himself for the blow. He won't flinch away this time, though the scabs on his face still sting. Fai pauses less than a foot away. Though he hides it well, Syaoran sees hatred in his remaining eye.

* * *

The hatred wanes with the next few worlds, though wisps of it linger like poison in the air. Their physical wounds heal, apart from those that scar over, refusing to disappear. Syaoran doesn't have to look in a mirror to know that the scabs on his face have turned to angry pink scars. And he doesn't have to look at the magician to know that those scars mean nothing compared to the blond man's empty eye socket.

* * *

Sometimes, Syaoran feels as if something is tugging on his heart.

At first, he's not sure what it is. Perhaps he's been trapped in a tube too long and can't remember how his body is supposed to feel. But part of him doubts. Syaoran considers, analyzes, hypothesizes. Eventually, he realizes the source of his discomfort: his blood-bond with Fai has produced an interesting sort of symbiosis. Though bloodletting ought to cause harm, after a few days without being fed upon, Syaoran feels like the pressure inside his body is building. As if too much blood flows through his veins.

The solution to this, naturally, requires Fai to drag his dagger-sharp nail across Syaoran's wrist and drink until Syaoran can't walk straight.

* * *

"You should've let me pay the price," Kurogane says one night, as he pours himself another shot, this one from a green bottle with elegant script curling across the label.

Syaoran shakes his head. Feeding Fai weakens him, true, but since he takes care not to give blood right before a chess match, he doesn't consider it a problem. There's little else to do in Infinity apart from sleeping, reading, and fighting. Besides, he considers his payment a duty, not just a burden.

He figures that he has hurt them all so much that it's only fair that he pays with what little he can offer.

* * *

Fai smells it. The blood. Sweet, rich, alluring, with a spice that makes it irresistible. And he must resist, especially now, when thousands of watchers cheer them on from the stands, when the blood is dripping down the forbidden curve of Syaoran's lips. They descend into their prep room, where they can remove their collars and deposit their rented equipment.

The second Sakura and Kurogane slip into their separate changing rooms, Fai snatches Syaoran by the collar and slams him against the wall. The boy huffs, all the air rushing out of his lungs at the impact. His eyes glaze over with shock, perhaps pain. And Fai doesn't care about anything except the blood, but he knows he can't just lap it up like he would if it had been anywhere but Syaoran's lips, so instead, he wraps a clawed hand around Syaoran's chin, tilting it up and holding his head in place. Fangs explode from his gums and pierce the soft, yielding flesh of the boy's throat.

* * *

Syaoran hides the puncture wounds beneath the collar of his shirt. After a few hours, the marks disappear.

* * *

Sixteen days. That's how long Fai holds out before he gives in to his thirst again.

"Please," Syaoran whispers. The others left an hour ago, Sakura out shopping, Kurogane guarding her. There is no one here to see, no one here to judge except for himself and the boy begging him to drink.

"I can't," Fai says. "I won't."

"Please," Syaoran whispers again, clutching the sheets. His skin burns with a fever, and his eyes resemble glass marbles. His fingers cling to Fai's shirt, heartbeat pulsing in his fingertips, a constant reminder of Fai's self-imposed starvation. "Please . . . I feel like I'm going to explode."

Fai shakes his head. "You're just congested. You've had a fever for two days now." Two days too long, since none of them have ever fallen ill on this journey. Perhaps their exemplary health is a product of Mokona's magic, or perhaps the sicknesses of other worlds are just too foreign to affect them. The fact that Syaoran has fallen sick worries Fai, and he finds he cannot distance himself as he ought to. He rests a hand on the boy's forehead. "Just rest."

"You don't understand!" Syaoran shouts. Fai draws back, startled by the outburst. This Syaoran seldom leaves his room, never speaks above a murmur, and withdraws from their presence as soon as it is prudent to do so. The shouting does not match the way Fai has come to see him. "I'm not congested, I'm _dying_."

Fai can only stare as he absorbs that.

"Fai-san, p-please . . ." The boy's voice drops again to a whisper, and this time, the plea is so pathetic that Fai softens a little. "It's not just the fever. It's been sixteen days since you last fed. It _hurts_."

Finally, Fai relents. He doesn't bother drawing blood from the wrist this time. Instead, he lifts Syaoran into a sitting position and bites down on his neck. Blood sprays between his teeth, flowing much faster than last time. For a moment, Fai fears he's ruptured some important artery, fears he will kill the boy instead of relieve his pain. But hunger, stored up and ignored over sixteen agonizing days, overwhelms him, and he sucks greedily, his mouth pressed against Syaoran's neck. Hot, sticky blood overflows from the corners of his lips even as he gulps down the quantities spraying into his mouth. For the first time since Tokyo, instinct rules his actions more than logic. He can't stop drinking. He doesn't _want _to stop.

The whole time, Syaoran whimpers, occasionally murmuring coherent phrases or words. "Please . . . yes . . . Ah, that feels good. Suck harder."

The words stir something inside Fai. He pushes the feeling away, dismissing it as ridiculous. Obviously, the fever has made the boy delirious—he wouldn't say such things if he had any idea how suggestive they sounded.

When Syaoran's blood pressure drops, Fai's instincts recede enough for him to let go. Hunger remains inside him, lurking in his stomach like a beast pacing in its cage, but taking more blood will only endanger the boy's life. Hastily, he wipes the boy's already-healing throat clean of blood and heads to the living room to give him some peace.

Syaoran's fever breaks within the hour.

* * *

Fai struggles to sleep that night. Syaoran's innocent innuendos keep flitting through his mind, and Fai cannot connect anything with the boy's quick recovery except the blood bond they share. It worries him that the boy is just as dependent on being fed on as Fai is on the blood, yet there is a strange comfort in being needed. It reminds him that while he could take the elevator to the rooftop and fling himself off the edge of the building, doing so would harm someone he has unwillingly come to care for.

When the glowing red numbers on the nightstand declare it is five in the morning, Fai crawls out of bed. He gets into the shower and turns the water to the coldest possible temperature.

* * *

Some lines shouldn't be crossed.

Fai knows he's crossing one of those lines when he draws his fingertip across a cut on Syaoran's cheek and sticks the bloodied finger into his mouth. He knows he's crossing another when he leans forward and runs his tongue across the slice, tasting the blood there.

Fai just isn't sure he cares.

* * *

It's not that Syaoran _likes _having someone rip into his flesh and drink his blood. It's just that he feels compelled to do so. He doesn't think about it much, except when the pulsing under his skin grows uncomfortable. In fact, the first time he really considers what he's been doing is when Fai apologizes to him for what happened after last night's chess match.

"Honestly, it's not a big deal," Syaoran says. The fact that he's blushing lends little credibility to his assurance.

"It _is _a big deal," Fai insists. "I crossed a line. That was too . . ." He trails off.

On impulse, Syaoran finishes the sentence for him. "Intimate."

"Yes." Fai looks away.

Another impulse pushes Syaoran to take the magician's hand. "It wasn't so bad."

Fai stares at him for a moment. Then, without a word, he walks out, leaving Syaoran alone.

* * *

Three days go by, and no one knows where Fai has gone, only that he left a note one the counter saying not to worry about him.

* * *

Fai stands alone atop the roof, staring down at the lines of traffic below. Headlights and streetlamps glow, some of them flickering because of poor electrical wiring. Sidewalks stretch along these streams of light, pedestrians hurrying through the illuminated circles beneath the street lamps.

Every night for three nights, Fai has considered stepping off of the rooftop. These trips are only the latest in a lifelong string of suicidal impulses, but he has never felt so compelled to go through with it. But while he sometimes pretends to be a coward—as acting cowardly extricates him from many troubling situations—Fai knows that he is not.

If he was truly a coward, he would have killed himself when his brother had died.


	2. Part II

Love Bites

Part II

* * *

Relief. That's the first thing Syaoran feels when Fai returns. But relief is not the first thing Kurogane feels, judging by the way he stalks over to the wizard, baring his teeth, and grabs the blond by the collar. "Where the hell _were _you?"

"Exploring," Fai says, smiling. There's something missing in that smile, something Syaoran has unconsciously come to expect. This smile is even more false than the other smiles he's worn, and it doesn't waver at all as Kurogane yells and accuses and finally storms off, frustrated with the lack of response.

Sakura, too, reacts strangely to Fai's return. While she acts cordial and smiles, there is ice in her eyes. As if her faith in Fai has fractured because of his unexpected departure. Within minutes, she returns to her room, isolating herself as they all do now. Syaoran alone remains as Fai takes a seat on the couch. They sit in silence for a few minutes, then Syaoran looks up. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Liquor."

The answer surprises him—three days is their usual period between feedings, so he assumes Fai is thirsty for something else—but he obeys anyway, retrieving a clear bottle from the shelf in the kitchen and bringing it to the coffee table. They drink until they pass out, then wake up eight hours later feeling as if someone has jammed ice picks through their skulls.

* * *

Another chess game. Another bruise. Another cut. Afterward, Syaoran tilts his head back, exposing his neck in a silent invitation. Though he could easily let Fai slice his wrist open and drink from there, Syaoran actually prefers when Fai's fangs pierce his neck. It's faster for both of them, which means less discomfort.

Syaoran doesn't admit it, but he likes having someone hold him like this. And since there are practical reasons, he doesn't feel guilty when Fai's breath mists along the side of his neck, or when Fai's elongated fingernails trace the curve of his cheek, moving over the ridges of scar tissue. "I'm sorry."

It's the first apology Fai has made since Tokyo. Syaoran doesn't miss its significance. He lays a hand on Fai's cheek, beside his empty eye socket, and says, "So am I."

* * *

Again, Sakura and Kurogane are out, one to shop, one to guard the shopper from harm. Despite the obvious tension, everyone protects each other. But the others' absence gives Syaoran an opportunity. He knocks lightly on Fai's door, peering in through the crack. A golden eye stares at him from the darkness. "It's been three days," Syaoran says, bowing his head. He waits, but Fai gives no response. Eventually, Syaoran steps into the dark room and reaches for the lamp sitting on the bedside table.

Fai's hand closes around his arm before he can even reach the switch. Claws bite into his flesh, but don't break skin. Syaoran can feel Fai trembling. He knows, on some level, he's indirectly responsible for whatever has disturbed the vampire. None of them would've been forced to go on this journey if he hadn't made that fateful wish years ago, and though he doesn't know the circumstances of Fai's arrival in Yuuko's shop, he knows enough. Fai fled his home world—someone so powerful doesn't abandon their country or their people without good reason. "What's wrong?"

Fai says nothing. His grip tightens, and he pulls Syaoran closer, his other arm wrapping around his shoulders. A blush creeps across Syaoran's cheeks, and he tries to wriggle free. Fai refuses to let go, holding him as a child might hold a stuffed animal for comfort. Eventually, Syaoran stills, listening to the sound of Fai's breathing, hearing the rasp of terror there. Finally, just as he starts to relax, Fai answers. "I had a nightmare."

"Oh." Syaoran often has nightmares, but the tremor in the magician's voice points to something much more horrifying than what he experiences most nights. Uncertainly, Syaoran returns the embrace. This feels strange, but not . . . bad. Perhaps a bit uncomfortable, but only in an emotional sense. Really, if not for cultural prejudices against this kind of closeness, Syaoran would feel quite relaxed. And Fai has always been the type of person who could make friends with anyone. Close contact, even intimacy, must be integral to the world he came from.

Syaoran's anxiety spikes when Fai's hand moves to caress his face. Not because of the closeness, but because Fai's claws haven't retracted yet. Then suddenly, a sharp pain flares in his lip. He flinches, feeling warm liquid run across his mouth. Fai catches the trickle of blood with his index finger. Then, claws retracting, he puts his bloody finger into his mouth and sucks on it until it's clean.

He repeats the process several times, but Syaoran's lips don't stop bleeding. Without warning, Fai tilts his head forward, his tongue shooting out and running along the curve of Syaoran's lip. He freezes for one instant in shock, then jerks free of Fai's embrace and runs out of the room.

* * *

Syaoran doesn't cry. He never cries. Instead, he steps into the shower and turns the water on full blast, staring up at the shower-head as the water jets pummel his face. By the time he finishes, his mind has justified Fai's actions. Vampire saliva aids healing. That's the only reason Fai would act in such a way.

* * *

It's a strange relationship. The memories torment him daily, yet Fai finds the will to seek Syaoran out in the morning, to greet him with as much civility as he can manage while the rest of him crumbles in despair of what he has done. And after several days, Syaoran's conspicuous avoidance fades, and they cross paths more often. Still, Fai knows simple civility will never be enough to wipe away the shame of his lapse, so the next time Kurogane and Sakura head out to run errands, a week after his last feeding, Fai knocks on Syaoran's door and braces himself for an accusation he knows he deserves.

Instead, the boy opens the door and invites him inside. Fai sits on the edge of the bed, folding his hands on his lap. Beside him, Syaoran rolls up his shirt sleeve.

Fai shakes his head. "That's not why I came in here."

The boy looks up, eyebrows knitting together. "Okay . . . So why did you, then?"

He hesitates, feeling as unprepared for this conversation as he feels about the price he must pay for his brother's life. At the thought, his throat tightens. Guilt often plagues him, though it rarely shows. Still, it must be obvious on his face how awful the whole situation feels for him. "I need to apologize," he finally says. "For the other night."

Syaoran shrugs. "It's not a big deal."

Those words again. Frustration sparks somewhere inside him, and he stands, towering over the boy. For one instant, he sees fear in those dark eyes. But there's something else there, becoming more evident as Syaoran's cheeks burn red in the dim room. The boy stands, meeting his gaze. His scars seem a little clearer, a little more visible, as Fai's eyesight sharpens to supernatural clarity. And those scars are an accusation all their own.

Fai wants to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. For the scars. For the lapse. For the fact that the boy suffers whenever he doesn't drink, but also suffers when he does. But he doesn't beg. Begging would be selfish. He doesn't deserve forgiveness.

He never has.

Syaoran's fingertips wind around his palm, drawing him out of his reverie. A moment later, Fai catches a whiff of blood. The sweet, spicy smell muddles his mind for a moment, giving the boy an opening. Syaoran leans forward, pressing their lips together. Fai freezes, then, unthinking, leans into the kiss. The iron tang he tasted in the air spreads across his tongue, and too late, he realizes why he didn't pull away before—Syaoran has deliberately bitten his lip so it bleeds. And after a week without blood, Fai cannot withdraw. The kiss deepens, a strange combination of predatory instincts and common lust.

It takes longer than usual for the craving to go away. The wound isn't deep enough to leak much blood, even when prompted. Still, by the end of it, they're both breathing hard. Fai finally frees himself, heart racing, and all he can think is: _What just happened?_


	3. Part III

_Author's Notes:_

_The smut kicks in in this chapter. In fact, except for the short sections at the beginning and end, this chapter is pretty much entirely smut. Read at your own risk, skip if you so choose. This is the final chapter._

* * *

Love Bites

Part III

* * *

Fai decides the only way to stop this disturbing chain of events is to frighten the boy.

At first, he's not sure how to go about it. Through his clone's memories, this Syaoran experienced many terrors. Fai isn't sure how to frighten a boy who knows he will not be harmed. Or, rather, he does know how, but the thought of scaring the boy _that_ way sickens him. And ultimately, that method might be more dangerous than his instinctive desire to lure his prey closer.

Still, the idea floats around in the back of his mind, and by the time a week has passed without any fresh blood or alternative ideas, Fai knows he's out of options.

* * *

His back hits the wall with enough force to knock the wind out of him. Dazed, Syaoran stares up at the single yellow eye that has both eased his nightmares and tainted his dreams. "What—" he begins. The sound of seams shredding apart interrupts him. Cold air rakes across his chest, and he looks down, shocked.

Fai gives him no time to recuperate or question. The vampire yanks him forward, then throws him down so he lands on his mattress, chest exposed. He feels Fai's hunger, knows the man hasn't fed in over a week. His own body pulses, aching. Over the past few days, Syaoran has considered removing the blades from the razors in the bathroom and slicing into his skin. Not because he believes in self-harm—he doesn't—but because he knows his only escape from the ache in his body is to bleed. And if Fai won't feed from him, he will relieve that pressure on his own.

But now Fai stands over him, and the pulsing sharpens into something else. Syaoran quivers on the mattress. "What are you . . . What are you going to do to me?"

The magician says nothing, but drags his claws over the remainder of Syaoran's shirt, shearing away the last bits of fabric. Long nails trail harmlessly over his chest, raising hairs on the rest of his body. He squirms, but Fai pins his arms above his head and holds them there. The blond straddles him, keeping him from rolling to either side. With a jolt, Syaoran realizes he is trapped.

"Last time I fed, you bit your lip on purpose," Fai says. "Why?"

Heat rises to his cheeks. "I . . . You needed the blood. I needed you to take some."

The magician tenses. His voice softens. "That's the only reason?"

Syaoran hesitates. Then, cheeks reddening, he shakes his head.

Silence. Fai's grip loosens, but Syaoran doesn't try to free himself. Part of him craves this. His body knows what _should _happen under these circumstances, and though that's too much to ask and too much to hope for, his cheeks flush even brighter at the thought.

He can feel his pulse. And it's racing.

Sharp fingernails trail across his abdomen. This time, one draws a thin line of blood. Fai repositions himself, tongue moving from Syaoran's navel to the dark stub of his nipple. He shudders, the pulsing growing stronger. His whole body feels flushed, as if he's radiating heat.

Another slice, this one in the opposite direction. Pain flares wherever Fai's fingernail goes, yet Syaoran feels no compulsion to move away. Quite the opposite: the pain only intensifies the pleasure he's unconsciously allowed himself to feel.

The next cut is deeper, the one after that deeper still. Fai's tongue explores each, his hands never moving from Syaoran's wrists. In a way, his hands are like manacles. Syaoran can't free himself from the vampire's grip, nor can he move the rest of his body too much without straining against those iron-strong hands.

Fai presses his mouth against the lacerations, lapping up blood as he goes. A soft whine escapes Syaoran's throat as Fai carves a new gash just above his waistband. "Fai-san, please," he begs, unsure if he wants this to stop or if he wants something else. An instant later, Fai's mouth finds his.

Fai's lips taste like blood.

Syaoran whimpers and moans, blood sliding down the sides of his waist and staining his shorts. Fai seems to have forgotten about the blood, however. Fai attacks his lips, his tongue, his cheeks, his neck. A spasm shoots down Syaoran's body, his arms jerking as if he could break Fai's death-grip on his wrists.

The blood keeps flowing down his abdomen. _The sheets, _he thinks, unable to voice his concern as Fai's teeth pierce the inside of his lip. More pain. It feels someone's wrapped barbed wire around his chest and pulled it taut.

"You're afraid," the vampire whispers.

"Yes."

"Of me?"

"Yes."

Fai releases his wrists and draws back, his fervor seeming to die away as quickly as it had come. Syaoran pulls his limp arms down, so they rest at his side. His chest heaves, lungs trying and failing to pull in enough oxygen to calm his racing heart. Fai slides off the bed, standing up and brushing himself off. He starts for the door.

Syaoran snatches his hand. "Wait."

Fai half-turns, but won't meet his eyes. Breathless, Syaoran tugs him closer. "Wait. Aren't we going to . . . finish this?"

The magician tenses, finally looking at him. Syaoran blushes scarlet, wondering if he's misjudged the situation, however unlikely that seems. "Finish what?" Fai asks quietly.

"Weren't we . . . Weren't you going to . . . you know?"

Fai's single eye widens. "I . . . Do _you_ want to?"

The question gives him pause. He shouldn't want this—his Sakura is still out there somewhere—but they've already started, and it's rather pointless to hide the fact that there's more than a simple blood bond at work here. Besides, he's been wondering about this for a while. About what it would be like to be intimate with someone. He knows most people go through multiple lovers before they find the right one.

And, though part of him argues against it, he supposes he wouldn't really be cheating on his Sakura, since they never committed to anything. They've never even kissed.

"Yes," he says. "I want this."

Fai stares at him a moment more. Then, in a blur of movement, he resumes his previous position, pinning Syaoran's arms to the mattress while straddling his abdomen. He sits there for a moment, then snatches a sheet from where it's crumpled up at the edge of the bed. His hands move too quickly for Syaoran's eyes to trace, but he sees the end result taking shape. In less than thirty seconds, Fai has turned the sheets into a makeshift rope and tied Syaoran's wrists to the headboard. "Um . . . Fai-san?"

The vampire scrapes his nails down Syaoran's ribs, slicing the skin open. Blood flows down his sides, caught by Fai's tongue before it can stain the sheets. Syaoran gasps, pulling instinctively at the restraints and finding his hands immobile. Fear sinks in, and he fidgets, sliding away from the vampire's probing tongue. "Fai-san . . . _Oh_." His eyelids flutter as the man runs his tongue across the sensitive stub of his nipple. "That's . . ." He trails off, unable to think of a proper description for the cool, teasing suction on his chest.

The sensation vanishes. He opens his eyes to see Fai staring down at him, his face a mixture of desperation and uncertainty. Syaoran tries to lift a hand to the man's face, but the cloth ropes won't allow him the freedom of movement. So he just says what he's thinking instead. "Why am I tied to the bed?"

Fai blinks(winks?) and cocks his head to the side. "Are the bindings too tight?"

"Well . . . no, but . . . I mean . . ." He sighs, closing his eyes. "Never mind."

The magician's touch gentles. His claws retract, allowing his blunt fingertips to trace circles across Syaoran's bloodied chest. His speed varies, fingers sometimes moving supernaturally fast, and sometimes lingering over one spot for a few seconds, almost as if massaging each muscle on his torso. Syaoran lays back, accepting the contact. Relishing it.

No one's ever touched him like this.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," Fai says, and Syaoran can't imagine why he would possibly want this to stop until he feels his shorts sliding off his hips. A sense of reality returns, and again, he strains against the makeshift ropes. Why has Fai tied him up like this? Is it about power? Dominance? Is there a practical reason?

All his musings fade when Fai peels his underwear away and leaves him vulnerable. Their eyes meet as Fai's hands explore the inner curve of his thigh, trailing farther and farther upward . . .

Heat rushes through Syaoran's body. His back arches. A soft mewl escapes his throat as Fai's hand closes around him and tugs. The initial jerk startles him, stirring feelings he's only felt when alone behind the veil of a locked door. His vision goes spotty.

Another tug. Already, Syaoran teeters on the edge. Teeth gritted, he lets out a moan. "Fai-san . . ."

Again. Everything starts to dissolve in a haze of sensation, but he still feels the pressure inside. _This is it, _he thinks, waiting for the next tug, knowing it will bring him to that sweet release, though it embarrasses him to let go so soon. But the release doesn't come. His legs squirm as Fai lets go of him. "Please," he begs, hips twitching upward. "Fai-san, please."

"Not yet." Fai's lips graze his ear. His delicate hands skim his upper arm, making him struggle against the bindings again.

"Please . . ."

He can't see Fai's face, but he hears the smile in his voice. "And do for you what you can do on your own? No."

Syaoran's body wriggles, but Fai has positioned himself so he can't reach anything that will bring him to the peak. After a few frustrated moments, his body relaxes. Fai slides away from him, standing up and leaving him tied to the bed. His eyes fly open. "You're not going to _leave _me like this, are you?"

Fai chuckles, grabbing his shirt by the bottom and pulling it over his head. It flutters to the floor, followed a moment later by his pants, then his undergarments. On the bed, Syaoran fidgets, unable to look away as Fai approaches. The vampire's hands trail across the side of his neck. Instinctively, Syaoran tilts his head to the side, exposing his throat. Despite the earlier bloodletting, the pressure's still there, under the surface. He wants the vampire to take more. To take everything.

Perhaps Fai senses his need, or perhaps he's just as desperate. Either way, the white-hot pain shoots down Syaoran's body as fangs bury themselves in his neck, making him tingle all over. He gasps, then moans.

He will never say it aloud, but he likes being bitten.

Still sucking on his neck, Fai climbs on top of him, his weight settling over Syaoran's hips and shifting back and forth across those sensitive spots. But it's not enough. The break between the earlier stimulation and this friction means that he's not sitting at the edge anymore. This feels good, but he can't reach for that greater pleasure.

Another pain shoots through his body as Fai's index finger slips inside him. Automatically, his body tenses, and a sharp sting sears the side of his neck. The balance of pleasure and pain tips to one side. His next moan reverberates with anguish.

Fai withdraws, running his tongue over his neck to help seal the wound. Syaoran lies limp, dazed by pain and blood loss. Fai continues licking his neck, repairing the damage. After a while, the licking turns to nuzzling, and most of the discomfort recedes. Syaoran turns his head, the tip of his nose brushing the vampire's cheek. Fai freezes, then kisses him. A blush creeps across Syaoran's cheeks, so perhaps he hasn't lost too much blood after all.

Fai slips his finger inside the opening at the base of Syaoran's tailbone. He tenses, closing up, then forces himself to relax, trying to enjoy the sensation despite the discomfort. The magician slides in and out, finding a rhythm. After a few minutes, he slips a second finger inside, stretching him further. Syaoran groans, but does not complain.

A third finger follows, and this one _hurts_. He whimpers, pulling hard against the sheets tethering his arms to the headboard. But instead of withdrawing, Fai pushes deeper, making him squirm. Sure, a little pain adds to the excitement, but this seems like a bit much for the small glimmer of pleasure it brings. _Maybe he just enjoys seeing me in pain, _Syaoran thinks, gritting his teeth. A moment later, Fai lays his head on his chest. "Just relax. You're too tight. It's going to hurt worse if you don't relax."

"Too tight? I don't think this is the intended purpose for that body part."

Fai stares at him for a long moment, then bursts into laughter, pressing his face against Syaoran's chest. The vibrations do odd things to his body, especially since it's currently being invaded from below. The spark inside him starts to burn again.

"True," Fai allows, and he hasn't sounded this happy since before Tokyo. So Syaoran ignores the pain, hoping it will pass. A moment later, Fai withdraws his fingers and repositions their bodies, coaxing Syaoran to bend his knees. He obeys, wary.

Fai's expression softens, the humor fading from his gaze. Uncertainly, he plants a kiss on the side of Syaoran's neck, right over the healing puncture marks. "This will hurt," he says.

"I know."

"I want you to look into my eyes."

Syaoran doesn't point out that Fai only has one eye now—to say so would be rude. Instead, he tilts his head back, meeting Fai's gaze. There's something there, beyond the intensity of the moment, beyond the anxiety, beyond even the pleasure. Something haunted. Something desperate.

Fai pushes inside him. Syaoran surrenders, back arching. The blond's hands explore his ribs, his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Finally, they frame his face, holding him so he can't look away. Dazed by the onslaught of sensation, Syaoran can barely keep his eyes open. Everything hurts, but pleasure jolts up his spine with every thrust, and his arms have grown numb to the pain of being restrained. Considering their relationship, it seems right that he should endure a little pain in exchange for this pleasure.

Sex is not so different from being bitten, in the end.

Fai closes his eye. An instant later, hot liquid burns inside Syaoran's body, making it slick, reducing the discomfort even further. A shudder runs through Fai's body. His remaining eye flutters open. Syaoran waits for the man to collapse atop him—his own body always seems to cease functioning at this point, so he knows what to expect. What he does not expect is the other man's final, powerful thrust. Fai strikes a cluster of nerves buried deep inside him, pushing him over the edge.

Streaks of white obliterate his vision. His ears ring. A sound escapes his throat, though he cannot identify what sort of sound it is—it's not a shout, a whimper, a sob, or a laugh, but some combination. Pleasure plows through him, stripping away all control, and he doesn't even think to warn the other man before his seed spills between their bodies.

They lie there, the minutes slipping by too fast and too slow. Heat pours off their skin, slinking away into the cold room. Silence falls, disrupted by their ragged breathing, their pounding hearts.

Fai pulls out, leaving him cold, empty, aching. Quick hands unwrap the bindings around his wrists.

This time, when Fai walks to the door, Syaoran doesn't stop him.

* * *

It wasn't a mistake.

Fai realizes this later, sitting on the rooftop in another world. Two weeks ago, they left Clow, left Sakura. And Fai has recovered his magic and his eye, which means he no longer requires Syaoran's blood to live. He supposes he has Yuuko to thank for that, though he doubts she can hear his thanks, no matter how loudly he shouts it.

They've fallen into a peaceful world. Trains criss-cross the countryside. Cumulus clouds float through the air. Grass ripples in the wind.

It's been months since he slept with Syaoran. Fai doesn't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Perhaps the passage of time, the survival of their friendship, proves it was not a mistake. Either way, Fai is content. They are no longer at odds with each other.

Sometimes, he catches Syaoran watching him from a distance, only to have the boy look away, blushing, as soon as Fai returns the look. Sometimes, Fai wonders what it would be like to lie with him again. But he understands the line between dreams and reality.

The boy will always love his princess. Fai accepts that. They have lost and found people worth protecting. They have felt pain and joy over failures and triumphs. They have loved and been loved despite constant struggles. They have lived.

It is enough.


End file.
